


Reverence

by verry (cherrybone)



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Heartbeats, M/M, can be interpreted as familial or no! up to you hehehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybone/pseuds/verry
Summary: Touch is a funny thing, isn't it? Something we all take so much for granted.Héctor has a bone-deep understanding of how important touch is to him, and when Miguel reappears, he's helpless to want to draw his boy into the curve of his arms and hold him for as long as he's allowed.





	Reverence

**Author's Note:**

> a request for anon!!! some soft, sweet family feels about a boy and his great-great grandfather
> 
> hope this was exactly what you wanted darling <3  
> warnings for very VERY soft stuff. i'm usually pretty problematique but it was lovely to write some sweetness ehe
> 
> edit: i like to keep a tidy comments section. love u guys ur the sweetest  
> ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

Héctor is always the last one to leave the grounds. He’s the one, out of all of them, that had to spend years alone, without his family, never knowing if he’d ever get to spend time with them again. So now, even at the end of the night, he’s always the last one left lingering.

He huddles in the courtyard long after his living family has gone to sleep and his dead family has drifted back to the gates.

He’s pushing it, he knows, but it’s been so long, and Día de Muertos just never feels long enough. One night to make up for lifetimes of loneliness is hard to swallow, and Héctor finds himself absently limping around the perimeter of the house trying to soak in as much of his family’s presence as possible.

Héctor still can’t believe it, some nights.

He never thought he’d ever be able to see his family again, never thought he’d be able to be surrounded by that love and warmth only your flesh and blood could give you. Well, er, bone and blood? Bone and... whatever.

Héctor had been convinced – despite his whimsical attitude – that night, a year ago today, would be his last. All his effort, all his scheming, all of it would have been for nothing. He’d never see his little girl again, he’d never be remembered by his family, and he’d never again get to be a part of something bigger than himself.

But then, there had been Miguel. His great-great grandson had burst into his afterlife and made all of Héctor’s wildest dreams come true.

Not only had the boy managed to place his picture back on the oufrenda, he’d managed to clear his reputation and out the name of the man who’d taken everything away from him. Who’d taken his _family_ away from him.

Miguel had given him back the afterlife that he thought was lost to him. Miguel had given him _everything_.

The boy had been bright and talented and determined. He loved freely and expressed himself openly. He knew what was important to him, and made sure to teach their whole family about the concept of unconditional love.

Héctor thinks, sometimes, that he loves Miguel more than anything.

What he wouldn’t give, some days, to be able to hug him just one more time. To be able to put his arms around the boy and squeeze him for all he’s worth. To be able to say thank you just once more, so that Miguel could understand just what he’d done for him.

* * *

 

“ _Mi_ – _Miguel_?” Héctor asks, incredulous, not wanting to believe it. Unable to comprehend how he’s been given this gift.

But Miguel isn’t looking through him, he’s looking _at_ him.

“Héctor!” Miguel cries, and then, before Héctor has time to process this, to wonder how on _earth_ any of this could be possible, Miguel is flinging himself at him.

Héctor catches him with ease, making sure to brace and hold himself together so Miguel doesn’t crash right through his skeleton.

“It worked, it worked!” Miguel cries, pressing his face into the hard line of Héctor’s neck. It can’t be comfortable, it _can’t_ , but Miguel melts into him like he belongs there, the warm weight of him making something come alive deep inside Héctor. He feels like Miguel fits completely into all the empty spaces that made themselves apparent when he died, some physical, others deeper than that.

“Chamaco, what worked?” Héctor asks quietly, throat feeling tight with disbelief. He’s still holding on to Miguel, holding him up against him, warmth leeching through the boy’s clothes and straight to Héctor’s cool, dead core.

Miguel pulls away, still within the circle of his arms but far enough to make a sheepish kind of eye-contact.

“Uhm...” He starts, and Héctor’s eyes narrow immediately.

“Miguel –”

“I just really wanted to see you!” Miguel bursts, before Héctor can even start in on his reprimand. He might not be the most responsible member of their family, but he’s still a father (and a grandfather and a great grandfather and a great- _great_ grandfather), and he still has Miguel’s best interests at heart.

So no matter how happy he is to see his boy here, in front of him, _touching him_ , he’s worried above all else.

Héctor stares at him long enough that Miguel starts to wiggle, clearly looking to be put down. Héctor doesn’t want to let go of him, but Miguel’s probably too old to want to be carried anyway. Héctor can’t be selfish. As much as he wants to hold Miguel in his arms forever, he knows that eventually, you have to let everything go.

But, when Héctor sets him down, he’s surprised when Miguel doesn’t pull away completely, just stands pressed against him, warm fingers hooked into the cool crevices of Héctor’s ribs and keeping them flush. He’s still close enough for Héctor to smell him, alive and sweet and so breathtakingly perfect that Héctor wants to bottle that scent up and keep it with him forever.

“Miguel, how are you _here_?” Héctor asks, because as happy as he is, there’s still that undercurrent of worry that something’s gone wrong. That somehow, Miguel’s made another mistake and landed himself in the world of the dead and he might be _stuck_.

It doesn’t feel wrong though. Miguel clearly isn’t dead, cheeks a ruddy brown and breath ghosting warm and wet against Héctor’s chest. The weight of his fingers curled around Héctor’s lowest ribs is a sure indicator that Miguel is alive, still soft and full of youth.

“I, well, I figured if stealing something from an oufrenda could get me cursed, then maybe... eating something would do the trick.” He starts, eyes darting off to the side. “Just not as... serious. You know?”

Héctor tries again. “Miguel –”

“I _missed_ you!” Miguel yells, all passion. Héctor should recoil from the words, but instead they urge him closer, hands coming to rest on the softness of Miguel’s cheeks.

“Mijo...”

“I missed you _so much_.” Miguel goes on, neck going limp and allowing his head to rest fully in the curve of Héctor’s hands. He feels so alive like this, so real, that it crowds out all of Héctor’s doubtful thoughts about whether or not this is happening.

Miguel feels so, so _perfect_ , and Héctor doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such a gift.

“I missed you too,” Héctor says, because it’s all he can say really. He imagines he can almost feel the blood racing just under Miguel’s skin. Pulsing and hot and Héctor wants so badly to feel it, to hear it.

His hands slide lower, almost of their own accord, the roughness of his bone stark against the smoothness of Miguel’s skin. They come to rest against Miguel’s neck, pressing firm but tender against the point of his pulse.

“ _Dios mio_ ,” Héctor breathes, not imagining the steady thrum of Miguel’s pulse under his hands. Miguel shivers, just a little, and Héctor spares a thought for how cold and rough his bone must feel against Miguel’s flesh.

Miguel smiles, cheeks dimpling in the sweetest way possible. “I know I shouldn’t have, but...”

And Héctor gets it. He truly does. There was a time in his afterlife where he would have done anything to see his family again. So the fact that Miguel has done something so irresponsible just to see _him_ again. 

Well. 

Héctor would be lying if he said he wasn’t beyond touched. 

“It’s okay. We’ll get this sorted. A simple blessing will get you back just –”

“Wait!” Miguel cries, voice suddenly frantic. “I didn’t come here just to get sent right back! Don’t –” His voice cracks, breaks, and Héctor knows his own heart would be beating double time if he still had one at the expression on Miguel’s face. “Don’t you want to see me, too?” His voice is a trembling little whisper, and god, what Héctor wouldn’t do to get that soft smile back on his face. 

“Of course, mijo, I always want to see you.” To feel you, to touch you, to crawl inside of you and never, ever, leave.

“Then just a little longer,” Miguel pleads. Hector presses more firmly, tracing the line of Miguel’s jugular and feeling his eyes rolls back just slightly.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” Héctor says, almost reverently, as if he’s trapped in a dream where the only thing that matters is the delicate bird-like flutter under his bones.

Miguel flushes then, heat rising up his neck and staining his cheeks a beautiful wine-red. Héctor doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a sight quite as beautiful as this. 

All of a sudden he _wants_ , strongly and desperately. He wants Miguel, wants to be wrapped around him, wants to feel him everywhere, to stay with him always. The wave of longing is so sudden and complete that Héctor feels himself sway on his feet, first backwards and then forward. 

“Sorry...” Miguel murmurs, looking shy and sheepish. Héctor can’t think of one thing the boy should have to apologize for right now. Not when it’s his own possessive thoughts thickening the air between them.

“Let me listen,” Héctor returns, just as quiet, fingers digging in to Miguel’s neck just slightly before sliding lower, resting on his chest overtop his thin tank top. “Let me hear.”

Miguel turns impossibly redder, face almost glowing with it, but he nods shakily, and Héctor can smell the sweet aroma of nerves and his liveliness drifting around them. 

He nods though, just a small jerky thing that has Héctor breathing out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized, until after Miguel had begun to tilt his head back and puff out his chest, how afraid of rejection he’d been in that moment. How much it would have hurt him if Miguel had called him strange or weird or pushed him away. 

Héctor sucks a sharp noise in through his teeth, watching in avid fascination as Miguel’s eyes flutter shut.

Héctor hesitates a beat, and then another, and then he’s lowering his head, crouched almost double, and pressing the side of his skull against the warmth pulsing through his boy. 

Héctor feels his head go fuzzy and distant, the steady thud-thud of Miguel’s life force beating loud and sure echoing around his skull. 

He never –

Miguel was here, alive, letting him do this, letting him experience this. Héctor had forgotten the simple joy of sharing space like this. Of listening to the comforting sound of someone so important to you living, simply existing. 

He listens as Miguel’s lungs expand and collapse, expand and collapse, expand and – and there’s a hitch, a small stutter in both his breathing and his heart. Héctor hadn’t realized he’d dug his fingers into Miguel’s shoulders until right then. Pulling him closer, more firmly against the side of his face. 

“Sorry,” Héctor mutters, in the same quiet, apologetic tone Miguel had just used himself. 

“It’s okay,” Miguel responds, hands resting on the crown of Héctor’s hair and feeding warmth into him there too. Héctor sighs, hold not loosening, letting every bit of sunshine Miguel is radiating sink into the very depth of his soul. 

It’s more than okay. It’s everything, it’s perfect, and Héctor feels another wave of that bone-deep desire crest and crash over him, and he thinks, if his tear ducts were still functioning, he might begin to weep. 

As it is, his eyebrows furrow, head turning to rest his forehead against the softness of Miguel’s chest. Then quick, light enough so that he can pass it off as nothing if pressured, Héctor finds himself pressing a feather light kiss to the fabric covering his boy’s chest. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Héctor breathes, and Miguel’s hands tighten in his hair before relaxing and picking up a light stroking gesture. 

“I am too,” Miguel says simply, and Héctor feels more love in those words than he’d ever thought possible. 

He’s going to have to get Miguel back, give the boy his blessing, part from this. 

But for now, he simply wraps his arms around Miguel’s waist and drops to his knees to bury his face in the boy’s stomach. 

He lets himself have this, because it’s now or maybe never. He doesn’t know how Miguel will feel next year, or the year after next. And as immutable as Héctor’s own feelings for Miguel are, and how sure he is that he will _always_ love his great-great grandson in exactly this way, he knows that Miguel is a growing boy. 

And people change as they grow.

So for now, Héctor simply basks in their shared need, nuzzling closer and tightening his hold on the most precious thing he’s ever held in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> you can catch me on twit @miriouu if you have a request you'd like to discuss with me!


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